Temptation
by KhamanV
Summary: Memories of a life better lived. Memories of a life forgiven. Memories of a waiting mother. There was so much potential for Ben - could it have been otherwise? Probably not. Three chapters total. Annie/Ben, Juliet/Ben.
1. The First

**Temptation**

_The First_

Summer. The sun ought to be scorching, but he took no notice. The jungle smelled rich and loamy, purely alive. Birds sang overhead, tropical cacophony, a melody that was alien but beautiful all the same. Annie's laugh rang back to him as he chased her through narrow boar-paths and through knotted stands of bamboo and banyan trees. Ben was fast, but she was even smaller than he - lithe and as quick amidst the crowding green, but she had pressed the advantage and fled first. For a little while, they had broken through into a field, clipping across a corner of it before disappearing again into the deep places. Perhaps the cameras had caught this for a moment, some observer there to see two youths running across the island like chasing their bright destinies. Perhaps only the island saw. They did not care. They were young, and life stretched before them, bright intertwined ribbons of hope and chance, songs yet to be sung.

He caught up at last, falling into her as he grabbed out at her arm. She laughed again and caught him before they both tumbled into a small stream that burbled along rounded stones. Instead they fell together into soft moss, laughing, her hair cascading over his face and nearly causing him to sneeze.

She kissed him, full on the lips, and he drank it like wine, feeling joy burst within him. It would have been more than enough enough, that gift, but her hands traced his jaw and his throat and down. He caught the wandering hand and pulled it to his lips, kissing it, suddenly afraid, hungry.

Annie smiled down at him and pulled his face up to hers, kissing the corner of his mouth, then his neck, pressing her mouth against it. He could feel the soft pressure of her teeth veiled behind the young lips, whispering his name. It caused a thrill inside him, yet he was still terrified, lost in the jungle with her and no longer in control of the game. He hadn't been in control at all, he realized, and his eyes flew open. He looked up at Annie, his blue eyes clear and frightened, caught frozen by her loosened shirt and the soft, musky smell of her.

"Don't fight me," she whispered to him, her hands soft and soothing. "Do you want to fight me?"

He thought he answered _no, please, not ever, no, _but later could never remember if he had actually spoken. He pressed against her, she still above him, and then there was new flesh and smoky ripeness. The taste of her numbed his lips to all other sensation.

She took him first, he all but at her mercy. It was not for long, too inexperienced, too eager, too hungry, but still fine and terrible and greater than them. And then they lay for a little while, together, not speaking, still kissing, still tasting each other. Then time was come again and he took her. This was better, and when she cried out, there was no fear but only the return of the wild joy of the chase.

When dark came, they slipped homeward, fearing nothing on the island and trusting and understanding only each other. Their hands intertwined as they walked together, slipping apart at last to stealth into their homes under the cover of a moonless velvet night.

Summer was new. There would yet be more days as fine as this one had been. But only this first day would be so perfect and fresh.

* * * *

Now Ben was older. The blueness of his eyes yet undimmed, though they could not pierce his surroundings. It was dark where he lay, no moon, no stars, and he felt cold. Where was Annie? His hand reached forth, searching, finding nothing warm. He couldn't find her. He called out – surely she had to be close. He couldn't have lost her! Where was she? Where was he?

"Sshh," came her soft voice, now an adult's. A gentle voice, and full of fondness. "Don't worry. I'm close." A hand caressed his face, her fingers cool in the dark. He could still see nothing, but felt comforted. Felt safe. He always had, with her. "I'm not lost, Ben. Sometimes I worry that you are."

"I'm not lost," he croaked. "I just got a little scared, that's all."

"It's all right to be scared. Just don't lose your way."

"Will you still be there at the end?"

"Do you want me to be?"

"Very much." His voice sounded naked and lonely to his ears.

"Then I'll have to try. And you'll have to try. Can you?"

"I... I don't know." He couldn't remember what he was answering, what the question encompassed. He couldn't remember anything, except that first perfect day, the two of them laying on the moss.

"You need to, or you'll die."

"I'm not scared." He was, and she gave him one of her delighted laughs.

"I'm here, Ben, and you can't lie to me. Now hush. It'll be better soon."

He laid his head back on cold stone and fell into something that was not quite sleep, and held no rest for him. Yet despite this, he dreamed. A soft smile played on his lips. He could still feel Annie's touch.


	2. The Second

_The Second_

They were gone. So many of them were gone. Plans had tumbled into despair, and even as hope was not lost, his role was over. Locke had done more than he could, and now the remaining were home. Well, if not home, safer. Time was right.

She looked at him like he was a bug on a slide. Juliet. Something tore in him every time he caught her gaze, and he kept his eyes well away instead. He deserved her hate. This was not a new revelation. Everything he had done, that he had perceived had been for her, had turned inward, warped, gnarled, and fallen into sorrow. He had been an architect for pain. He wanted to die.

Locke was addressing the rest of them, the survivors, the lost. The words were unimportant to Ben, but the tone was that of a true leader. This time, they would all be going home. Those that belonged to the island would stay, in peace at last. Safe. Kept away from the world that might abuse that place. He would be leaving with the others – and how that word hurt him to think. Now he was, truly, other. He had nothing left. He was left as a shell. No one acknowledged him.

Richard gave him one brief glance, dark eyes sparing him a moment's pity, and Ben found no gratitude for it. He knew his place. He knew how he had bought his fate.

But Juliet's gaze – that still pained. Locke's speech fell into silence and the rest began to slip away. The boats drifted closer. It was all done, the storybook closing. And she still stared at him. It drove him mad. He hadn't wanted to break her, and yet he had. She did not walk away as the others did. She still stood on the beach, staring at him. He knew the question in her thoughts – _why are you still alive when so many are rotting?_ and had no answer for it.

Ben walked towards her. Juliet didn't move, her expression didn't change, and Locke merely watched from a distance, not interfering. Ben stood for a moment before her, broken, clothes torn and dirty. He opened his mouth to speak, but found he could not. He fell to his knees instead and cried.

There was nothing else for long moments. She didn't move.

"I'm sorry, Juliet. _I'm so sorry." _He waited for her to strike him, perhaps blessedly even find a gun. There was nothing. He continued to weep, silently, trapped by the moment he had caused.

More time passed and the sun began to set in the horizon. The soft blare of a distant boat broke through, and birds cried out in the distance, enraged by this intrusion. He sighed, emptied out and wrung through.

Juliet reached down and placed her hand on his head. The palm was heavy and warm. "You're a bastard, Ben," she muttered. Her voice was tired and held no malice in it. "The boat's here. Let's go."

* * * *

Four months had passed. Ben did what he could, finding new identities for those who had left the island. It had dwindled his hidden savings, but he had no fear of poverty. There was plenty left. And he had many options, not the least of which involved little bits of corporate espionage against the remains of Widmore's sprawling company. They were meager plans. But it was familiar work for him, and he found some comfort in it.

He clung to a brief memory from the boat, where he had succeeded in drawing one moment's peace from Juliet. She had asked him, not really caring about the answer, what he would do with his life.

"There's always work for a checkout bagger," he'd muttered offhandedly, not really addressing the question, and she had laughed, surprising him.

"I'd like to see that."

"Maybe a few nice late evening shifts. Something on the weekend. The particularly dire hours." His tone was dry, admitting some of the same amusement at the improbable scenario. And she had laughed.

Juliet had stayed behind when the others drifted off. Some had gone back to LA, some to New York. Korea. Or just vanishing. He wandered. She wandered with him. He didn't know why, and he didn't ask. It didn't seem safe. If he asked, she might go, and he was too lonely to risk it. He didn't feel he had the right to.

* * * *

Two years now, and quiet truce had evolved into something more. He still never pressed her, but in time, she pressed against him. He tried to step back, knowing that all he had done was hurt her, but she no longer seemed afraid of him. Or angry. She smiled more frequently, and it was summer where they were – wandering Europe, avoiding angry ex-Widmoreans, revisiting the world and seeing it for what it was, broken and beautiful. Florence haunted them both the most and they left within days, seeing too many parallels in its history to their own.

The island had taken most of his life, but now he felt as if some of it had returned, as though there would be years yet for him, and new youth. He smiled more easily as well, and his face had lost its frightening, distant cast. It was a better life that he had now, and he supposed now he was struggling towards his own salvation. Juliet was guiding the way, and he owed her everything. If she had left him when the boat had docked, his journey surely would have led to a swift river, and his corpse drifting along its shores.

He told her only once of what he still felt for her, in Ireland, a ruined tower rising in the distance. They had gone to visit a distant lochan, birds skimming across its surface. It was one of the places Avalon had been rumored to be, though they were not there to seek it. It was simply a beautiful place. Juliet had said nothing to his words, but later he would not go to bed alone. Nor afterward. He didn't need her to speak. She understood. It was more than enough.

There was peace for him at last. He clung to human contact like drowning, and never let her again feel as if she were in danger.

* * * *

So dark, and alone again. Ben stirred from where he lay and rolled, afraid again. His memory was again blank, but the smell of Juliet's hair filled his nostrils. Where was she? Where was he? He reached out and found nothing. He called out wordlessly, his voice cracking, sounding like a frightened child.

"Stop it, Ben," Juliet muttered. "You're fine. I'm here. Nobody's lost."

"We all got away, didn't we? It's over..."

"Well, no, Ben." She sighed. "Not all of us, but we're not lost. Are you scared?"

"God, yes."

"You probably should be." She sounded sympathetic. He felt her palm against his forehead, heavy and soothing.

"Will you still be there at the end?"

"Should I be?"

"I... don't know." He felt fear gnaw at him.

"Well, try. Do what you can, keep on the path, and we'll see what happens, right?" She laughed, a short burst.

"I don't know if I can, I think I broke something. I can't remember what."

"Well, you need to remember, and you need to fix it, or you'll die."

"I'm not scared of that." He was, and she sighed at him.

"Don't lie to me, Ben. You know better than that by now. We're done lying to each other, right? Lie down now. It'll be done soon."

Ben laid his head back down on cold stone, sensing his collar caught in something sticky and moist and that smelled intangibly familiar, like copper. He passed on into the dreaming state, a troubled expression marking his brow. He could still smell Juliet's soft hair.


	3. The Last

_The Last_

"Do you remember now?" The voice was hollow, sexless, and very distant. Ben lay on the cold, cracked stone, blood trickling faintly from his arm, from his side, and from his lips. He was afraid to respond. _"DO YOU REMEMBER WHAT WE TOLD YOU?"_ Now it was a roar, tearing through his eardrums, pulled up close beside him. Underneath the words was a horrible, inorganic clacking. He groaned, in as much terror as bodily agony. The wounds had been numb for hours but were now brittle-sharp. They cut through him as if inflicted fresh and not days old.

"It will not end."

Thoughts wove through him, false memories, the loving smile of a pleased father – one that didn't smell like beer. Ben couldn't open his mouth to beg for it to stop, for he was held frozen in an unseen grip. Suddenly she was there before him. Emily. In all the darkness around him, she was lined in silver light. She smiled for him, beckoning for her son to come home. Another torment, another lie. Ben was released just enough to permit him a sob and she vanished as he exhaled it.

"You said... you said you would destroy me if I didn't follow John. If I planned against him."

"_Yessssss....."_ The sounds coiled around him, pleased with his obedient answer.

"Please." The beast's grip tightened as he spoke, digging into his wounds, into the bruises, into the breaking bones. His voice fell into weakness, into begging. "_Do it."_

"John Locke is alive." A hungry murmur, content. "Do you remember? You haven't failed us yet, though you came so close. So... close."

"I'll kill him, I swear it!" He spat a curse. Ribs scraped against each other. "Take your chance before I ruin all your work."

Metallic clacking, inorganic hissing. It sounded like laughter, wild humor at his weak gambit. Ben felt he had gone mad at some point, then began to laugh, blood pouring more quickly from his mouth. He had gone mad a long time ago. Here. In the temple, or underneath it. They all did, in their way. Innocence bruised and broken, pressed to make the bitter wine of service.

"We like your desires. Taste with us."

Ben was crushed, lifted, tossed. The wound in his side that had begun to clot now tore open. It bled profusely. He could hear his blood drip into shallowly worn rocks, pooling, like an offering. The copper smell rose to his nostrils. He began to laugh soundlessly, thick blood from his lungs choking his throat and causing his mirth to end in pained coughing.

The beast snaked itself around him, rising him again into the air and crashing him into a wall. Once. Twice. Again. He was dropped to the stone, bones snapping free from flesh and scraping horribly against the floor. Blood filled his eyes and his senses began to dull. He welcomed this new dark. His thoughts began to burble and fall away.

_Mother, please. Please. I'm being let go, I'm finally coming home, please. I'm finished._

Ben could see Emily again, this last image bright and beautiful, and she was reaching for him, her blue dress shining like a brand. Mother, a word for God. He felt joy at the sensation of his soul slipping free, of that last warm void curling around him like the return to the womb. He reached out for her with all the strength that remained to him, enough strength to finish snapping the bond of flesh and spirit -

-and then she was gone

-and there was cold stone

-a few specks of blood from where he had cut his leg when he slipped off to the temple

-his body otherwise whole

-his duty unfinished

Alone under the ancient temple. The torches burned anew, and old Gods knelt in their frozen places along the walls. His mouth opened to scream, betrayed, full of rage, denied a third time and kept away from what he wanted most. He would live. He would serve. There would be nothing else for him. Not even death.

But oh God, oh Mother, the road before him twisted to dark places and he could not see its end.

* * * *

It was hours before Ben struggled back to the camp. His eyes were lidded and the blue dulled and lost to distant gazes. No one would draw close, as if a leper had come among them. He huddled near the fire and would not speak. John Locke did not come to question him, to ask after his three day disappearance. Likely John already knew. Likely Ben would be in for more mildly worded and well-earned mockery. He didn't care anymore. He was tired. He would be the good soldier and do what he was told. For now.

He considered trying again, when his strength came back. Seeking his freedom. Seeking his ending. But the beast's words came back to him – _it will not end – _and he shuddered, feeling cold all the way through.

Ben closed his eyes, the firelight still a dull orange flicker, and whispered to himself when the others were distant. "Will you still be there at the end, Mom?"

This time there was no answer. He was purely alone.

"I'm tired." His breath inhaled in a shudder. "And I'm scared."

Nothing.

The island watched him for a long time, but gave him no warmth. There was so much to do.

**_Fin_**

"_God loves me. I know he loves me. I want him to stop." ~ The Last Temptation of Christ_

(ABC's LOST and its characters are not my creation, nor do I claim any ownership or rights to the above content beyond that of the average godforsaken fanfiction writer. All errors are my own.)


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